We were waiting outside Professor Anderson’s room for a seminar on “Eighteenth-Century Romantic Literature” when Amy arrived, smirking. Her t-shirt was splattered all over with a creamy substance that was clearly semen.
“Fuck, Amy,” said Jane, “You’ve been having fun.”
“Well, I was giving him a hand-job and taking a pic on my phone, and he came sooner than I was expecting, so it went all down my front. And there wasn’t time to change.”
“What the fuck is Prof Anderson going to say when he sees that?”
“Not a lot, I expect. After all, it’s his cum.”
